"It's a sod pity, George," he was saying as he entered, "that a man
like you wadna, ance for a', tak thoucht a bit, and consider the en' o'
a' thing that the sun shines upo'."
"Hoo do ye ken, Thamas, that I dinna tak thoucht?"
"Will ye say 'at ye _div_ tak thoucht, George?"
"I'm a bit o' a Protestant, though I'm nae missionar; an' I'm no
inclined to confess, Thamas--meanin' no ill-will to _you_ for a' that,
ye ken," added George, in a conciliatory tone.
"Weel, weel. I can only say that I hae seen no signs o' a savin'
seriousness aboot ye, George. Ye're sair ta'en up wi' the warl'."
"Hoo mak' ye that oot? Ye big hooses, an' I mak' doors to them. And
they'll baith stan' efter you an' me's laid i' the mouls.--It's weel
kent forbye that ye hae a bit siller i' the bank, and I hae none."
"Not a bawbee hae I, George. I can pray for my daily breid wi' an
honest hert; for gin the Lord dinna sen' 't, I hae nae bank to fa' back
upo'."
"I'm sorry to hear 't, Thamas," said George.--"But Guid guide 's!" he
exclaimed, "there's the twa laddies, hearkenin' to ilka word 'at we
say!"
He hoped thus, but hoped in vain, to turn the current of the
conversation.
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